A Mother's Love
by savemyunicornclarence
Summary: For Valentine's Day challenge. One-shot About a mother's love. The Night Sentinel was badly wounded, so he prayed to his childhood goddess: Varda. He didn't expect an answer, but little did he know that Varda protected him ever since that day.


Blood painted the white, glittering world. A shrouded, raggedy man staggered through the snow. His fist clenched his bow as if it was a lifeline, something that would save him. In truth, it was the one thing that caused him to bleed profusely. He pushed his way past the stinging branches into the dark, coiling forest. His glaring, orange eyes closed as pain smothered him in its numbing embrace. He grunted as his wound throbbed. He needed to get to shelter, or even he will die. He closed his eyes and prayed to the goddess of his childhood: Varda. _Can you help my forsaken presence? _He never let the tears coating his eyes drop. A sign of weakness wasn't profitable in his profession.

The bleeding man crashed down in a little cove. He ignored the stinging scratches. He stripped out of his shirt and cloak. He grabbed fistfuls of snow and rubbed them up and down his stomach. It was his mistake. In the split second he blinked, the sword flashed out and nearly gutted him. It would have been a very slow death. He ripped a piece of his cloak and wrapped it around his torso. He sighed at the some of the pain lifted from him. It was a cool, summer breeze kissing his side. His head collided with the tree trunk with eyes closed.

Warm memories of home enveloped him. He wasn't always a ruthless mercenary. No, once he was a sweet, laughing boy waddling towards his Mama.

_ Slanted sunlight brushed through the vibrant, green leaves. The meadows were a field of emeralds dotted with speckles of onyx, topaz, and diamonds. The brooks were a silver line quietly running through the grove he called home. These trees weren't nightmares. They were soft and welcoming. Birds twittered in the trees. They flew – a myriad of pastel colors – in the bluest sky. The little boy gasped at the wondrous nature surrounding him. "Mama, the singers are flying!" One pale, chubby fingers pointed at the swooping birds. _

Eyes glared down at calloused, scarred hands. He flexed the blunt appendages. He couldn't see the little boy anymore.

_"They're glowing many colors!" His mother glanced at the sky, pausing rolling the crust for pie. She smiled fondly at her son. Her precious son beamed at her. Her son saw the world in a special spectra. She moved her son and herself to the isolation the countryside clung to. She knew that people would view her son as an anomaly, an abomination. She wanted to cocoon her like she did in her womb. She never wanted to let him experience the badness in the world. Nothing good ever came from badness. _

He struggled against consciousness. _Nothing good ever came from badness._ His mother always said that. He shifted a little underneath bloody rags. He missed his mother – yes, he, the infamous Night Sentinel, missed his mother. A single tear slid down his cheek, staining his skin silver, before he fell once again under the comforting blackness. 

_ "I can't wait till I can fly! I'm gonna see the world and meet new people. I will have a … a glorious feast! All kinds of food, and then I will bring back huge books for Mommy." Her laughter was the melodic clanking of hammered sheets of metal. It was a beautiful, happy song. Unfortunately, all songs have to end. _

_ "Yes, sweetheart," she brushed dirt from his cheek. "Now, clean up and help me make pie. Maybe I can even make your favorite!"_

_ "Ice cream!" The boy toddled over to the river. His splashes interrupted the silence slowly shattering around the grove. He swam around for a few more moments to get all clean, but then he ran off to his Mummy. He hopped towards the kitchen. _

_ "Mum, I'm ready! All clean!" He rushed into the house with the scent of pie in the air. He slowed down as he sensed something was wrong. He didn't know what was wrong, but his young mind drowned in worry. Why wasn't his Mum hugging him or kissing him? Why wasn't she calling him? Why wasn't she laughing? _

_ "Mum?" His tentative voice trembled. He peeked around the corner and gasped. Blood drenched the wooden floor. Sunlight appeared red from the mirage of red on the windows. "Mum!" _

That day – February 13 – his mother died. That day was the day his innocence shattered. He forever withdrew inside of himself, not letting anyone see his happy self. Not that he was ever happy now. He murdered people for a living. His hand, nay his entire body drowned in blood.

So many innocent lost all at his hand.

Night Sentinel groaned deep. He kept on delving into memories. He didn't want to go there. He didn't want to relive pain. He moaned and reached out his hand. It trembled like a leaf in the air. It somehow seemed lost.

Night Sentinel was lost. Varda sighed. A ghostly appendage floated. The Night Sentinel would have seen Varda in a mirage of colors unheard of in Elf Village. The goddess was corporeal but could defy gravity. She was beyond comprehension.

That was why she only visited her beloved when he rested.

Her skin glowed golden like melted amber. Her eyes were amethyst with specks of emerald green. Her scent reached out to the sleeping man. Violets and clean water filled the Sentinel's nose. He breathed in purity instead of the stench of dried blood and the odor of a man not having showered in weeks. Long, silky hair wafted in the air. It curled around her legs like gold tattoos.

Varda let spells lightly fall from her rosy lips. Innate magic breathed through her veins and coursed into her golden staff. She hovered over the Night Sentinel, pointing the staff at his torso. She watched him relax from his tense, pain filled rest. Skin stitched themselves back together. Scars disappeared until healthy, tan skin was left. She stroked the blue, jagged scars down his face. Even her magic couldn't erase what time could not.

She smiled at the thought of leaving her beloved healed and relax. She hoped that he wouldn't continue with his job, but that was all it was: hope. An idle, wishful thought contained in her head. She looked at him sadly, before she decided to kiss him on the cheek. She infused into his subconscious: _Be merciful. _

The next day, the Night Sentinel woke without pain. He stretched and yawned. He stumbled towards the sound of a brook. It was peculiar to not feel tightness from old wounds expanded. Once at a brook, he glanced down. He gasped. He dropped down to a crouch and stroked at his bare body. He shivered at the cold air, but oddly his body was warmth. All of his scars disappeared! He stroked at the blue scar, but it started to fade.

The Night Sentinel marveled at his body. He hadn't felt this clean since he was thirteen years old. He briefly wondered if his prayer was answered, then air shimmering with gold dust and smelling of violets and clean water bombarded him. He didn't turn around to see the presence, instead he closed his eyes. He immersed himself in the warmth and, dare he say it, love.

He was confused on how a goddess would protect him, but he didn't refuse him. Instead he leaned back a tad closer to a smiling Varda. She also leaned closer to breathe in the musky scent. Her amethyst eyes flickered down his muscled back. She mouthed a spell to warm his body whenever he felt cold.

Her hand ghosted down his body. He shivered but stayed still. Varda loved this Sentinel. She watched over him ever since February 13.

_The mother whirled around at the whispering of feet against wooden floors. Her son would have caused a ruckus. "What do you want?" she demanded. Twinkling green eyes flattened to a plane of cold, dark forest. The silent intruder responded by raising his sword high into the air. She steeled herself before she jumped towards the man. The knife covered in gooey substance from the pie plunged into the man's shoulder. She growled and began to stab him again before a single cold slice whistled through the air. She stumbled back and doubled over. _Please, Goddess, protect my son. Give him a mother's love for me. _She collapsed onto the floor with the last word ringing in her ears: "Mum!" _

Varda loved the Sentinel like a mother. Her hand illuminated over his skin as she put protection spells on her beloved son. She closed her eyes and opened them. The Sentinel was relaxed without any more pain.

The Sentinel shivered as the warm caress left his body. He didn't move until the loving, pure presence disappeared. He glanced again at the brook. Tears fell from his glowing eyes. He rubbed his eyes, unsure of what he saw. He swore that he saw kind green eyes, lips ready to smile, and curly black hair dusted in flour.

He rose with a shaky breath. It rattled in his lungs before he exhaled. He draped his cloak over his shoulder and grabbed his bow. He cleared his eyes of tears and set off. He never knew where he would go, but he was set on not being in the war. No matter how much gold was offered to him for his services, he would accept a life of anything other than the Night Sentinel. He walked with the light, confident steps of a man who shed his mistakes.

The Night Sentinel was no more.

He felt renewed. This time he would take his chance and hold to it forever.


End file.
